


in the little hours of the morning

by patwitches



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien salt, Alya Salt, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Lukanette, but minor, kagami and marinette deserve more canon interactions, one shots, pry my emotional support ship from my cold dead hands, with some one-sided adrienette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22009213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patwitches/pseuds/patwitches
Summary: "wanting is no crime, boy," said anarka to him, all those years ago, "but they will curse your ambition."a series of oneshots about marinette and luka, all of which take place at ungodly hours.
Relationships: Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Luka Couffaine & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 11
Kudos: 343





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh, Marinette.”

She walks into the room, her footsteps silent. If it hadn’t been for her heartsong, Luka wouldn't have noticed her come in. He turns around to greet her, and she promptly collapses into his arms.  _ She smells like roses,  _ he thinks,  _ like sweet roses.  _ She buries her head into his chest — whether it’s to avoid eye contact, or wipe the tears from her eyes, he doesn’t know. 

Her surprising display of vulnerability is enough to throw him off guard, but it only takes him a few seconds to regain his composure, and comfort her. She sobs softly, her shoulders rising and falling with every attempt to contain her emotion. It’s heartbreaking, seeing her like this, and he wants so badly to see her smile. So he hugs her close, and tilts her chin up so she’s looking at him. “What happened, little lady?” 

Marinette chokes out her words like they’re poison — he knows they are. To her, at least. “I don’t want — I don’t want to talk —”

She cries even harder as her legs give out under her. Luka catches her.  _ She’s light,  _ he thinks to himself,  _ I can’t drop her, she’ll break.  _ “Hey, hey,” he soothes her, “that’s alright, now. You’re alright. I’m sorry for asking you, you obviously didn’t want to talk about it.”  _ It’s been building up in you, hasn't it? For so long.  _ “Whatever pains you, I’m here.”

At the sound of Luka’s reassurance, Marinette holds him closer. She’s strong, Luka notices, so strong for being so small. He can’t help but admire her still, even in that state. But he knows, he’s seen Juleka at her worst. He knows any facial reaction can make her tick or catastrophize, and the last thing he wants Marinette to do is to feel alone. 

She holds him like he’s all she has left. Her loose pigtails bob up and down with every choking sob, and he runs his hands up and down her back to calm her down. “There you go,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head. “Let it all out. With dissonance comes resolution. There is always resolution.”

Marinette’s phone buzzes, and she turns her tired eyes up at him, as if to give him permission to look. With shaking hands, she hands him her phone. Her wallpaper, Luka can’t help but notice, is no longer Adrien Agreste, but a picture of her and one Kagami Tsurugi.  _ Not even Alya, huh? _

The message, speak of the devil, was from Kagami:

_ Don’t mind them, Marinette. Cowards flock together. I trust you have made it to the Couffaine houseboat safely.  _

So, Kagami is her protector. Luka has an idea of why Marinette might need one. Juleka and Rose brought home stories of a particular Lila Rossi and her certain… achievements. Hearing of her left rancid, bitter tastes on Luka’s tongue. He hadn’t even heard the girl’s heartsong yet, and he already knew it would be — for lack of better words — utter fucking trash. 

He couldn’t believe how easily his sister and her girlfriend fell for Lila’s lies. On top of that, he couldn’t believe what they were saying about Marinette and her distaste for the girl. He knows Marinette would never bully anybody. Marinette, their everyday Ladybug, always stood up for what was right. And how did they pay her back?

Luka fights back the spiteful feeling — he’s been akumatized by Hawk Moth before, and he doesn’t want a repeat of Silencer. Meditation. That’s what meditation is for. “It’s just Kagami,” he reassures Marinette, “she’s checking in to make sure you’re okay, and that you’re here.”

Her shoulders visibly relax. Would her so-called friends sink so low as to attack her through text? Luka hopes not. “You have Kagami, and you have me.” He doesn’t dare to ask about Alya and Adrien — any mere mention of them might break her. He resents the thought of breaking; he knows Marinette doesn’t like to be treated like a fragile child. Of all the virtues, he figures she values honesty most of all.

_ Well,  _ he thought, bitterly,  _ how terribly, terribly ironic.  _

“Luka,” she whispers, “is Juleka home?”

“She’s sleeping over at Rose’s house. And Mom is away for a week. I’m holding down the fort here,” he smiles. Under any other circumstance, he knows Marinette would grow flustered at the thought of being alone with him. But he’s not one to take advantage. It’s two in the morning, and he knows her parents are away, too, to visit her Chinese relatives. They closed the bakery for a week. He figures Marinette deserves the rest. “So you don’t have to worry about her coming home. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get here?”

“Chat Noir,” she says quietly. “I was just outside the bakery, and he was on patrol… he offered to walk me here.”

_ So even Adrien hides his protection of her. Kagami’s right,  _ Luka thinks,  _ cowards do flock together. _

It’s no secret to Luka that Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir. It adds up: his convenient absence during his time as Viperion, not to mention how perfectly the costume fit him at the shoot. He’s never present in any situation where there’s an akuma (though he could chalk it up to Adrien’s security detail — the boy is famous, after all.)

And Ladybug? Ladybug is, without a doubt in his heart, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

Luka knows that her breakdown isn’t just because of Lila Rossi and her lies. It’s everything. The weight of what she can’t tell him is heavy on her heart, and asking her to unburden herself completely would be akin to pushing the world off of Atlas’s shoulders. 

She continues, almost sour, as Luka watches her attentively. “He knows about Lila. He knows how many akumas she’s caused… he just said the same thing Adrien said to me, to lie low, to be  _ the bigger person. _ ” Marinette emphasizes the last three words, as if to drive home to Luka how truly harmful Adrien’s suggestion is. “I thought Chat Noir would understand.”

Luka clucks his tongue in disappointment. “Some hero of Paris, eh? While I have no doubt he means well… Mari, asking that of you was terribly dismissive of your feelings and the damage Lila has already inflicted. Please don’t tell me you’re actively considering taking that advice.”

“I’m  _ not, _ ” she insists, spitefully. “I’m angry. I’m so angry, Luka, and I  _ hate  _ being angry. And I know it’s the middle of the night and I’ve probably interrupted you and I’m sorry that you have to witness this side of me but I really, really just need to scream.”

“No holds barred, little lady,” he laughs. “It’s alright. You can let it out.”

Marinette throws herself onto Luka’s bed, screaming into his pillow. She’s like a ragdoll at the mercy of her own anger, her fists thrashing about in a display of awkward, painful, beautifully honest humanity. It’s a lovely scream, and Luka envisions it in a sample for the next Kitty Section single. 

He walks over to where she finally lies, motionless, facedown on the bed. Marinette makes room for him, rolling over to let him lie down next to her. He pulls her close, letting his chin rest against the top of her head, letting his hands run through her hair, loosening her pigtails. She relaxes against him, and with trembling arms, holds him close once more. 

“That was a lovely scream,” Luka hums, “do you know how long it takes heavy metal singers to achieve that level of emotional conviction whilst making such guttural noises? If you weren’t so keen on fashion, little lady, I’d propose a career in metal for you.”

She giggles, snorting. Adorable. But she sobers up quickly. “Hey, Luka.”

“Hey, Ma-ma-Marinette.”

“Thank you.”

He wonders if she holds back for him, too, if she has just as much lovely things to say about him as he does about her. He doesn’t expect it or think he deserves it, but he does dream, and he does wonder. He remembers his mother, warning him of the perils of fame.  _ Wanting is no crime, boy,  _ said Anarka to him that night, all those years ago,  _ but they will curse your ambition.  _

“For what?” he asks, simply, playing with her hair. 

Marinette tugs on the sleeve of his shirt, and he stops to look at her. Her eyes are still red, her skin still littered with rivers of phantom tear streaks, carving paths through her starry freckles and running down her nose. She is devastated, and yet, she is calm. “Thank you for being here for me. I feel… Luka, do you think I’m …”

He finishes her stray thought for her. “No. Never. You’re not using me, Marinette, I’m your friend. And I’m here anytime you need me. And I promise I’ll tell you if I ever feel that way. But it’s very,  _ very  _ unlikely.” Yes, the world would sooner end before Luka succumbs to such toxic schools of thought. “I won’t press you about anything I said. But it’s out there, and it’s up to you.”

There’s a beat of silence before Marinette responds, her voice small and mousey. “I think,” she stutters, “can I — I want to sleep here tonight. Beside you. If that’s. If that’s okay.”

_ More than okay.  _

“Of course.”

He feels her melt against him, and he cuddles close. Paris’s midnight moon strains beams of light through his window, falling messy on his scattered sheet music, Marinette’s jacket on the floor, and her peaceful, resigned face. She’s asleep within the next ten minutes, all of which feels like an eternity, and Luka chuckles, kissing the top of her head once more. 

_ Wanting is no crime,  _ he thought,  _ but Mother, nobody believes the innocent.  _


	2. you look for a legend, i'm looking for common ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "light a roman candle with me" by fun gives me strong lukanette vibes.  
> anyways, have some slightly aged-up angst :) i took some of the narration from an original story i'm writing but miraculous-ified it, so

Marinette sat on the balcony with her legs dangling off the railing. She was smiling distantly, laughing at nothing; the ghosts of people and places that once were so dear and familiar to her seemed to let her be for that moment. Her hair had grown out to her chest, and she sat there chopping off her split ends, letting them scatter to the winds like petals to the breeze. 

Luka’s loose tunic fluttered in the midnight gale as he leaned against the terrace post, watching her. Paris was almost as lively as it was in her golden age, and if he closed his eyes, he swore it was almost like he never left. To a passerby, it might’ve seemed like Marinette Dupain-Cheng was just a young lady, mischievous, elusive, and beautiful. It also might have seemed like Luka Couffaine was just a young man, filled with wanderlust and wanting, watching the subject of his fancy paint the sky with her imagination.

But to those who knew better — and Luka and Marinette knew better — they were some of the most important people in the city. 

“Luka,” said Marinette, faintly, “if I slip, a little, and fall off the terrace railing, do you think I would survive the hit?”

He chuckled, worried, sauntering closer to where she sat. “Assuming I’d let you try, Ladybug.”

Marinette’s voice melted into the breeze. If her voice was a vocal track, Luka figured it was the kind that meshed with the instrumental so well that you would  _ really  _ have to pick it apart to figure out what she was saying. It was complementary, passive; so,  _ so  _ unlike her. “It’s bittersweet. After all these years… no, Luka, I don’t think I would intentionally let myself fall.”

“You have your clumsiness,” he mused, “and I have my Second Chance.”

She turned to look at him, briefly. Her blue eyes were positively radiant, scrutinizing. A smirk played at the corner of her mouth — yes, she definitely knew what he’d come to her for. It had been years, years since the ladybug and the black cat danced on the rooftops of Paris, years since the snake and the fox and the dragon and the turtle flew through the sky like shooting stars, like comets falling to earth and blazing in pure, unadulterated glory. “I know,” she whispered, “but it’s cruel to yourself to use it now.”

“It doesn’t feel the same,” Luka admitted, “being under the mask. He’s gone, and he has been for years, but God, Mari, you’d think getting to fly is enough.”

Some semblance of guilt flickered through Marinette’s bluebell eyes then — brief, but telling — and her gaze softened. “I know. It’s escaping. That’s what it is. No Hawkmoth, no akumas, no need for us.” With a deft motion, she swung her legs over the terrace railing to face him entirely. “A healthy dose of secrets never did anybody wrong,” she smiled, “but I suppose, after a while, they eat at you.” Luka drew closer to her, placing his calloused hands on the railing, one on either side of her. “Tell me, Viperion,” she continued, her breath hot on his face, “have you ever been on top of the Eiffel Tower with your mask off?”

He smiled at her then, and her eyes smiled back. He was playing a dangerous game, being that close to her and yet daring to tease, but Luka Couffaine was never one to back down. “I’ve only been as far up as civilians are allowed. But even then… from such a great height, you’d think the city was immaculate.”

_ Yes,  _ thought Marinette,  _ from such a great height, everything is perfect.  _ It seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye — the last five years of her life, the fading posters of superheroes scattered loosely in the Parisian streets, the dense cacophony of screams and victorious cries, the unrivaled rush she got from being the world’s luckiest little lady. She was no turtle, but she was wise, wise enough to leave her identity to mass speculation. As soon as Ladybug was thrust into the spotlight, she was pulled out of it by Marinette, who wanted, who craved closure and fulfillment. 

Who wanted to be somebody beyond the mask. 

“We keep running,” she spat, words bitter, “running, pretending. Paris has no use for Ladybug and Chat Noir anymore. But Paris might have a use for Marinette Dupain-Cheng the designer. Paris might have a use for Adrien Agreste, the model; for Luka Couffaine, the world famous rock-star.” She laughed, despite herself, turning her eyes to the night sky. “For Alya Cesaire, the journalist. Nino Lahiffe, the city’s most popular house DJ. We’ve outlived the masks, but we keep digging them up. And for  _ what _ ? To feel something? Something missing?”

Luka sighed, tenderly, and cupped her face in his hands. “There will always be something missing,” he said, resigned, “but the best of us find our peace with it, and move on. Maybe one day, we’ll gaze upon our glory days without feeling like we’ve peaked, or like the world has forgotten who we are.”

Marinette rested her right hand against his, feeling his harsh callouses. “The world can’t forget,” she lamented, “if the world never knew. We were the pride and joy of Paris, but I wonder… we were kids, Luka. Kids.” She let go of his hand, shaking, and pointed up at the sky. “Look at the stars, Luka. They never come out so brightly as this. I’ve never seen so many of them at once. Have we ever looked up like this, before?”

He hummed, letting his free hand loop around her waist.  _ To keep her from falling,  _ he thought. One breath, and she might tip over. “Maybe, once upon a time,” he laughed. “My mother told me, once, that the stars twinkle because they laugh.” She relaxed, slightly, in his embrace, and he pressed on. “Some divine comedy we’ve turned out to be. An audience of watchers, blinking down their laughter from the sky… I think they smiled down upon us when we were free, and they still smile upon us now.”

“You know all this, and yet —”

“Yet there’s yearning,” Luka admitted, “wanting.”

“Do you take your own advice?”

He slipped his hand in her hand, bringing her back down to earth, and pressed his forehead against hers. “On some occasions,” he chuckled, “Luka Couffaine is his own personal, wise sage. But I think tonight, he will indulge in his wanderlust and dwell on the past just a  _ tiny  _ bit. The night will pass, Marinette, but tomorrow, there is you and me.”

She repeated his words like a promise, a sacred oath. 

“Tomorrow, there is you and me.” 


End file.
